


Unexpected

by tictocficsoc



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Nick Fury has one too, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tictocficsoc/pseuds/tictocficsoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on avengerkink: <i>Tony thought sex with Nick Fury would be like the rest of their interactions and be a tense, angry, sexy hatefuck. So he's really surprised when Fury's a really loving, generous partner in bed. Surprised but happy.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

So, here's the thing: Nick Fury is sex on legs. Long, well-muscled legs, with a seriously hot ass on top of them. Tony Stark has known this since the first time, since the night he walked into the darkened living room of his Malibu house to find Fury standing silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sight alone was impressive enough, but then Fury spoke, with that near-subliminal growl in his voice, and Tony suddenly discovered a direct and unexpected connection between his ears and his dick. Made it very difficult to sit there and listen while Fury explained the Avengers Initiative.

Since that night, Tony has had plenty of opportunities to appreciate Fury's finer points. Like his cheekbones. And his jawline. And the way his torso tapered from those big shoulders to that perfect ass. And the extra hint of menace that crept into his voice when he got really pissed off. Tony would rather die than admit it, but half the reason he made such an ass of himself in mission briefings was just to hear Fury growl "Shut up, Stark" one more time. 

Sometimes, when he found himself alone after a battle, riding an adrenaline high with nothing to do, Tony would jerk off in the shower, imagining what it would be like to be slammed into the wall by those strong, perfectly-sculpted arms. To be held down by the solid weight of that battle-hardened body. To be pounded into the mattress by-- well, okay, Tony has never actually _seen_ Fury's dick, so there's a bit of guesswork involved there, but he's pretty sure it's awesome.

"Dude, you need to stop goading Fury," Clint tells him one day as they're leaving a post-battle debrief. "One of these days he's going to lose his temper with you, and then you'll be well and truly fucked."

It takes all of Tony's self-control not to respond with "God, I hope so."

* * *

So, here's the thing: Tony loved Pepper, and Pepper loved Tony, and the sex was _fantastic_ , and they both really, really wanted to make this crazy thing between them work. And for all their good intentions, it still crashed and burned like a HammerTech prototype.

"I don't understand," Tony says as he watches Pepper packing her suitcase. "I thought I was doing better. What did I do wrong?"

"Oh, Tony." Pepper comes over and hugs him, and he nearly breaks down right then and there, because he can already feel that it's not the same as all the times she'd hugged him before. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes, people can do everything right and things still don't work out."

Which is total bullshit, okay? Tony's an engineer, he knows things don't break for no reason. There has to be a flaw somewhere, a mistake, a fault in the wiring. He also knows that whatever the problem was, it wasn't in Pepper, so it must be in him.

That night, he gets drunk for the first time in months, alone in his lab with a bottle of $900 cognac and no one but Jarvis for company. He's about two-thirds done with the bottle when he figures out what he did wrong.

The problem, Tony decides with that beautiful clarity that comes from being just the right level of drunk, is that he keeps trying to have relationships with people who care about him. That sort of thing may work for normal folks, but it doesn't work for Tony Stark, because when people care about him, he drives them crazy. Both Pepper and Rhodey have gone on frequently and at great lengths about how crazy he drives them. And if you drive someone crazy enough -- which is bound to happen when they're living in your house and sleeping in your bed every night -- eventually, you drive them away.

(It's a good thing, Tony decides as he pours himself another glass, that he decided way back at MIT that making a pass at Rhodey would be a bad idea. It's also probably a good thing that the military keeps Rhodey so busy all the time. He and Tony only see each other a few times a year, but at least that means Tony will never drive him so crazy that he leaves.)

By the time the bottle's empty, Tony decides he finally gets it. If he wants to get laid by somebody who doesn't leave, it'll need to be somebody who doesn't actually like him. Somebody who finds him useful, maybe. Somebody who likes lots of hot sex -- because let's be real here, sex with Tony Stark is always _very_ hot sex. But not somebody who gives a shit.

The next morning, Tony wakes up on the floor with a killer headache and a crick in his neck. He doesn't have a very clear memory of what he was thinking the night before, but he does have a plan.

* * *

Tony becomes more obnoxious than ever -- more disruptive at briefings, more reckless in battle, more arrogantly flashy at press conferences. At the same time, he showers SHIELD with new tech: a new communications system, a bulletproof vest that's also stab proof, an upgrade to the helicarrier engines that reduces fuel consumption by 63 percent. When Fury glares at him across the conference table, he glares and blows a kiss. When Fury yells at him about following orders, he drawls "make me, handsome" in his most challenging tone. Steve and Natasha both reprimand him, publicly and privately, and Bruce murmurs soft-voiced cautions when they're alone in the lab, but Tony isn't worried. He knows Fury is getting the message.

The Avengers have a series of encounters with a group that likes to think of itself as the second coming of Hydra. They're mostly just a bunch of neo-nazi idiots, but they've managed to get their hands on some experimental weaponry, and they actually do some damage before the Avengers finally track them to their home base in Bugfuckofnowhere, Oklahoma. The resulting fight is short and decisive. It's almost boring, really, until Tony makes his way through the base to the command center and realizes that there's a self=destruct sequence counting down.

There's a lot of yelling over the comms, mostly of the "Tony, get the fuck out of there!" variety, but Tony isn't budging. There's 97 seconds on the counter, and these guys' computer security is a joke, he knows he can get past. And he does, too, shutting off the sequence with nearly three seconds to spare. 

"See?" he says when he walks out of the base to find Steve glaring bloody murder at him. "No sweat."

Fury is predictably pissed off at the debrief.

"That was an unacceptable risk, Stark! You were ordered to get out of there--"

"Yeah, but it was a stupid-ass order," Tony says, and watches the tiny muscle-twitch under Fury's good eye. It's kind of mesmerizing. "If I got out there, the whole place would've blown."

"So what?" It's Hill who asks the question, because Fury, against all odds, appears to have been rendered speechless. "It was the middle of nowhere, everyone else had evacuated. There wasn't even any property around to damage. You could've just let it blow."

"What, and lose all the intel in their computer files?" Tony rolls his eyes. "We needed to know who was supplying their weapons. Now we know. Everybody wins."

"Intel?" Fury spits out. "We have over a dozen prisoners we can question to get this information, and you came within 2.7 seconds of getting yourself killed for intel?"

"Aww, darling." Tony smirks. "I didn't know you cared."

Twenty minutes later, the meeting finally breaks up and everyone's walking out when Fury growls, 'I want a word with you, Stark."

This is far from the first time Fury has kept him behind for some extra shouting after a meeting, but something about the way he says it now makes Tony's heart race and his skin flush hot. He stands very still as the rest of the team files out and Fury shuts the door behind them.

"What's up, Grumpy?"

Fury is standing very close all of a sudden, looming in a way that's probably meant to be intimidating but is actually really hot. "What are you playing at, Stark?"

 

Tony tilts his head to one side, considering. "That's a rather vague question. Who says I'm playing at anything?"

"Bullshit." Fury's glare could've melted the armor if Tony was still wearing it. "You've been playing for weeks, and I getting dam sick of--"

"Aw, don't be like that, gorgeous. So I cut it a little close with the timer, I was never going to--"

"That's not what I'm talking about." Fury scowls impatiently. "Not that I'd complain if you cut out the suicidal theatrics, but God knows I'm used to them by now. I mean, what are you playing at with _me_?"

Tony considers denying it, but Fury looks as if he's about to have an aneurism, and really, what's the point? This is what he's been going for, after all. So he rocks forward on his feet, just a little, and rests his hands on the lapels of Fury's leather coat.

"I repeat," he says, "who says I'm playing?"

Fury goes scarily still and silent for a moment. The he grips Tony's arms, not hard enough to bruise but definitely enough so Tony feels it, and leans in until his face is only a couple of inches from Tony's.

"If you're going to say no," he growls, "say it now."

"Yes," Tony breathes.

Fury doesn't kiss the way Tony expected. There's no wall-slamming or biting or any other kind of violence. There _is_ a lot of tongue. Fury runs his hands up Tony's arms and over his shoulders, traces his thumbs along Tony's throat up to his jawline. Tony shivers a little as he imagines those big, deadly hands tightening their grip. For all his past experience, he's never had to form an opinion on breathplay before. Before he can form one now, Fury cups his hands -- gently -- around Tony's face, and deepens the kiss, and it's not lack of air that makes Tony go weak in the knees.

By the time Fury pulls back, Tony is so achingly hard, he thinks he might come in his pants for the first time since college. He grips Fury's lapels to steady himself and fights to keep his voice light as he says, "So... just how sturdy is that conference table?"

Fury laughs, and Tony's toes curl at the sound. "I think we can do better than a table," he says.

They take an elevator to a level Tony hasn't been to before, but he's seen the blueprints enough to know where the crew quarters are. The door fury unlocks with a card swipe leads to what is clearly a senior officer's suite. There's a small sitting room and a separate bedroom, good quality wood furniture, a queen-size bed with a down quilt on it. If not for the metal walls and all the furniture being bolted to the floor, it could almost be considered cozy. 

"Is this where you live?" Tony asks.

Fury sighs. "Sometimes it feels that way."

There aren't many personal touches, but Tony notes a vinyl record player -- an actual period piece, not a hipster reproduction -- and a framed photo of a much younger Fury posed with a group of six other guys in front of a helicopter somewhere in a jungle. Everyone's wearing Special Forces uniforms and Fury has hair and two eyes, which is just weird. Normally Tony would tease him about it but now Fury is guiding him toward the bed, and his dick is throbbing, and he's not capable of putting together a coherent sentence let alone an actual joke.

Fury shrugs out of his coat and sits on the bed. He pulls Tony toward him, but Tony has just enough functioning brain cells left to decide he wants to take the initiative for however long he can. 

"I got this," he mutters, and drops to his knees.

Tony totally called it -- Fury's dick is as impressive as the rest of him. Sadly for Tony's fantasy life, Fury does not go commando. Oh well. Tony shrugs, makes a mental not to adjust future wank fantasies to include black boxer-briefs, and carries on. 

Fury's too big to deep-throat, especially for someone who hasn't given a blow job in a while, so Tony spends a lot of time nuzzling and licking and sucking in as much as he can take while Fury's breathing grows faster and more ragged. Tony pays attention, notes the sharp intake of breath when he tongues Fury's balls, the slow, hissed "Yessss..." when he wraps his lips around the head. Tony palms himself through his pants for a few seconds, but has to stop quickly because otherwise he might come before Fury ever touches him, and wouldn't that be a goddamn shame? Fury's hips rock slightly, and his thighs are practically thrumming with tension when Tony presses his palms against them. Tony wonders why Fury doesn't just let go and fuck his face the way he clearly wants to. Maybe he doesn't think Tony can take it. Maybe that's why he's being so damn polite.

Tony pulls off and sits back on his heels, ignoring the frustrated sound Fury makes.

"You don't have to hold back, you know? Grab my head and go for it, I don't mind."

"Yeah, I bet you don't." Fury rests one hand on top of Tony's head but doesn't grab, just threads his fingers through Tony's hair and kneads lightly at the scalp. Tony feels a contented hum welling up in his throat, and wonders if this is what cats feel like when they purr. "But I'm not twenty anymore, Stark. Once I come, it might be a while before I'm ready for round two. So let's not rush things, okay?"

"Yeah, uhm." The thought of multiple rounds makes Tony feel a bit dizzy. "Okay."

"Good," Fury says, and pulls him up onto the bed.

They undress quickly and then slow down again, letting their hands wander over each other's bodies. Tony doesn't ask about the three puckered bullet scars on Fury's back or the long, ugly scar on the inside of his left thigh where a knife must've missed the femoral artery by millimeters. Fury says nothing about the pale circle of grafted skin and muscle where Tony's arc reactor used to be. They're both a little bit the worse for wear, Tony thinks, but not so much that they can't enjoy themselves. At least, Tony is definitely enjoying himself, and Fury sure as hell isn't complaining.

"I want to fuck you," Fury whispers, his breath warm against Tony's neck. He's spooned up against Tony's back, one arm coiled around Tony's waist and one knee pressed between his thighs. "You good with that?"

Tony manages a shaky laugh. "I thought you'd never ask."

Fury has condoms and lube in his nightstand drawer, which somehow isn't surprising. Tony grabs a condom packet and starts to tear it open, but Fury takes it from him and sets it aside.

"Let's not rush this, either," he says, and slicks up his fingers.

Tony starts to roll over, but apparently Fury likes eye contact when he's fucking, because says "No, stay there," so Tony lifts up his hips and lets Fury shove a pillow under him. Fury keeps his gaze fixed on Tony's face as he works his fingers into Tony's ass.

Tony moans helplessly and grips the headboard with both hands, fighting not to move too much. Fury is as slow and thorough about this as he was about kissing, and he slides his fingers back and forth in a languid rhythm that makes Tony sweat. Tony's dick is dripping precome and his vision is blurring, and he wants to scream at Fury to just goddamn _get on with it_ , but he can't seem to get enough air into his lungs. All he can do is ride out the flood of sensation, until Fury crooks his fingers a little and strokes _just so_ against Tony's prostate, and Tony arches his back and rattles the headboard against the wall as he comes.

It takes him a few moments to catch his breath. He barely notices Fury grabbing a handful of tissues from the nightstand to clean him off. But eventually his heart stops racing and he becomes aware of Fury still kneeling between his spread legs. Fury's skin is slick with sweat, and he's looking rather pleased with himself, but he's also still hard, which strikes Tony as kind of unfair.

"You haven't fucked me yet," he says.

"So I haven't." Fury sounds amused. "You ready to keep going, then?"

"Hell, yeah," Tony says.

He's so loose and relaxed now that Fury slides inside him with almost no resistance at all; he's also way oversensitized, and the glide of Fury's dick against his prostate is almost too much. Tony whimpers a little on the first thrust and Fury goes still, frowning.

"Stark?"

"If you stop now," Tony tells him, "I swear I'm going to go supervillain."

"Oh well, we can't have that." Fury leans forward braces his hands on the mattress on either side of Tony's head. He starts to rock his hips again, slow and easy, and Tony lets out a strangled groan as he feels his dick twitching with new arousal. He reaches down to touch himself but Fury gets there first, wrapping his hand around Tony's half-mast erection and stroking until he's hard again.

"Damn..." Tony mutters, and Fury laughs and lowers his head for a quick kiss. He's moving faster now, and breathing harder. Tony moves with him as much as he can -- he's too wrung out to do much, but it feels good just to try. He wraps his legs around Fury's waist to pull him closer, and Fury shudders all over as he comes. His hand on Tony's dick keeps moving, and it's not long before Tony's coming again, too exhausted to even cry out.

What happens afterwards, Tony decides, is absolutely, positively _not_ a cuddle. Sure, they lie there for several minutes with their legs tangled together and Fury's arms wrapped around Tony, but that's just how they happened to fall when they finished. It was just a... a fortuitous coincidence, that's all. No cuddling involved.

"Well," Tony says after a while. "That was unexpected."

"Really?" Fury sounds amused. "The way you've been coming on to me for months now, I really think you should've expected this."

"Not the sex." Tony rolls his eyes. "Trust me, the sex was totally expected. It's just that..." he trailed off.

"Hmm?" Fury tightens his hold on Tony for a moment, and pulls them both into a lazy sort of half-roll that ends with Fury on his back and Tony sprawled next to him, his head pillowed on Fury's shoulder. It's surprisingly comfortable, especially when Fury pulled the quilt up to cover both of them. "It's just what?"

"I kind of expected you to be the kind of guy who likes to give orders in bed."

"Riiiight." Fury drawls, and wow, that's an amazing amount of sarcasm to fit into one syllable. Tony is impressed. "Because I don't get to do enough of that shit out of bed."

"Point," Tony concedes

"Besides," Fury goes on, and now there's another note in his voice, one Tony can't immediately identify, "it's not as if you ever listen to me when I do give orders."

He turns his head to brush a light kiss over Tony's temple, and Tony suddenly feels as if he's had the wind knocked out of him. Because now that he's had a few seconds to process, he knows exactly what that note in Fury's voice is. It's _affection_.

"Wait a minute!" Tony sits up and glares at Fury, who blinks sleepily up at him. "You _like_ me!"

"You sound surprised." Fury blinks some more. "Did you miss the part where I just had sex with you?"

"I--" Tony starts, and then stops, because he has no clue how to finish that sentence. The memory of his drunken post-Pepper wallow is kind of hazy now, and he knows he wasn't thinking clearly anyway, but a part of him is still convinced that he has somehow messed something up very badly. "Why the hell would you like me?" he demands. "I've been a total asshole to you."

"Exactly," Fury says, and now it's Tony's turn to have a go at some confused blinking.

"You like me because I've been an asshole?"

"Hell, no." Fury tugs at Tony's arm until he lies down again. "You know, Stark, for a genius you're really kind of a moron. I don't like you because you're an asshole. I like you because of what it means."

"Oh." Tony stares blankly at the ceiling. "What does it mean, then?"

"You're not impressed by me." Fury props himself up on one elbow and rests his other hand on Tony's chest. It feels very warm. "You're not afraid of me. You'll never do everything I say just because I'm the Director and I said so. There aren't many people I can invite into my bed without either lying or wondering just how free they felt when they said they wanted to be here. You -- you know all my secrets and yet, here you are."

"Huh." Tony thinks about that for a few moments. "I can see how that would be a nice change of pace for you." It was, he supposed, not so different from his own attempts to find someone who didn't want him for his money. Fury had power rather than money, but the effect was the same in the end. "So that's why you like me, huh?"

"It is," Fury says. Then he tilts his head sideways and grins, broad and wicked. "And also, that's a hell of a fine ass you got there."

He laughs, and pulls Tony into his arms, and Tony lets him do it.

* * *

So here's the thing: sometimes, Tony Stark comes up with really stupid ideas while drunk. This one time, though, it works out.


End file.
